


In The Garden (she used to be mine)

by martinisandart



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Sad, Summer, Whump, guess this is my life now, i promise this has a happy ending, peach tree, phrack - Freeform, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 14:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20640728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martinisandart/pseuds/martinisandart
Summary: The peach tree had always meant more to him than it should have, but a cold letter has him reminiscing on a past summer that made their hearts swell.





	In The Garden (she used to be mine)

The peach tree was blooming again. 

This shouldn’t have been significant, but it was. The spindly branches wavered in the soft summer breeze, and the scent of sweet nectar and sunshine wafted through the garden. White blossoms had fallen from those limbs, and coated the grassy floor only a month before, and now the tree was heavily laden with rich fruit. The fruit that only last summer had been a happy memory, sweet juice covering conjoined hands, and laughter filling every inch of the now silent garden. 

Jack lay his head against the window and sighed, deeply. He hadn’t heard from her in almost three months, and her last telegram had been bland, almost empty. She hadn’t said anything of interest, she hadn’t even signed it, and there was no return address. Before this telegram, they had always been short, but sweet- perhaps a line of poetry, or a note on how her father was driving her mad- or of how she missed him. She would always say how she missed him, but this time she hadn’t. Perhaps she never would. 

The glass of whiskey made its way up to his chapped lips again, and he took a mouthful, cursing the fact it tasted of her. It tasted of everything that made her what she was, gods, it was even the same brand- the one that had always been gently poured into a crystalline glass from an expensive decanter, and had fuelled all too many not-truly case related discussions. The drink that had been their first, and their last nightcap together; after she had interrupted his investigation on the train to Ballarat almost four years ago, and after he had kissed her softly on that last summer night before she boarded the steamer that would take her away from him once again. 

Jack replaced the glass on the side table once more, and picked up the book of prose that he had been attempting to read before the memories overwhelmed him. Anthony and Cleopatra. He swallowed, and closed the book- this was too much. Even just looking out into the garden was too much- far too memories of her, and of last summer. The summer gone past. He shook his head.

It had been the most glorious summer since his childhood ones in Richmond. The letter had come as a surprise, and his face had lit up with a glow that it hadn’t in months. He had never gone after her, but she was coming to him. Back to him- for two months- to be expected on June 17th, at the docks, and in hope that he would be waiting for her, signed in her flourishing hand with a phrase that he had grown to adore- ‘yours lovingly, Phryne’.   
He had of course collected her from the docks, and it had been the reunion he had dreamed of. As soon as the steamer docked, she was stood on the deck waving her cliche in the air, and practically ran down the gangplank into his waiting arms. She had started crying, he remembered that, and he had very gently kissed her forehead, for of course, he had no idea what they were. Phryne had tilted her head, and found his lips with her own.   
“We’re partners, in every sense, Jack Robinson. Don’t tell me you forgot.” 

Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t forgotten. They drove back to his Richmond cottage in almost silence- neither party daring to believe that she was back, her hand finding its place on his knee as if they had always driven together. She had complained once about the speed at which he adhered to, and he had laughed. She hadn’t changed a jot. 

Once they had arrived at his home, with her seven cases and scarf flying in the breeze as she almost jumped out of his motorcar, they hadn’t gone inside. Her eyes had grown wide, and she had taken an appreciative breath, of the sweet summer blooms that covered every inch of his land- the trees, the flowers, and the peach tree. 

He had planted the peach tree the year they met- as soon as she had complained that her butler had packed no peaches in the lunch that they were eating during a stakeout. He had gone straight to the garden centre, and taken the most developed peach tree he could, then put it in the very centre of his garden, planting it with pride. They were nothing to one another, he knew that, but when the tree bloomed for the first time, he had known how much it meant to her that he bought her fresh peaches to one of their hardest cases. How her face had lit up and she had almost started crying.  
“They used to be Janey’s favourite.”   
He had hugged her then. It was the right thing to do.

The first time that she saw the tree in person, she had ran one hand over the trunk, in disbelief that it actually existed. He had come up behind her and placed one hand on her hip, drawing her close, and she had leaned into his overcoat covered shoulder to regain her composure. 

That evening, they had laughed, and spent the whole night outside. He had set a table for two on his patio, and had fed her peaches as her eyes sparkled. They were together again- as partners, as beings, as one undeniable, unbreakable bond. She had looked at him with pure love in her eyes, and when she had lain down on the grass, he had immediately joined her. In the fading light, she had traced his features with one finger, and he had gently kissed her palm, drawing out a happy laugh. She had cuddled into his side, and without even trying to, fell asleep on his garden lawn, the scent of blossom and orchids sealing their love. 

He had carried her to bed, and that was how they spent two months- in the garden. She taught him how to laugh again, and he taught her how to pot plants, to pick peaches, to stargaze. Of course, the brightest star was on the ground with him, but she would never have taken that overture. Every time he made an overture, she had laughed softly and kissed him, and every time she made one, he swept her off her feet and held her close. It was surreal.

Of course, their time had to end, and her return to England was inevitable. 

Jack sighed and sipped his drink again. Last summer. A thing of the past, and now here he was, drinking and reminiscing, something he had always said he would never do, but, then again. She was different. She was worth reminiscing. 

The peach tree wavered in the night breeze, and Jack shook his head. He would pack the peaches up and take them to Wardlow. Dot and Collins would appreciate them, even if no one else would- and then he would put her from his mind, and not think of last summer again. If she was gone, she was gone, and did not owe him an explanation. 

He stood, and blew out the candle that had been giving the sitting room a feeble amount of light. Perhaps another day would suit him better. 

As he walked across the hall to his room, he heard the door creak, and he stopped short. There was a click, the grate of metal on metal, and then the door swung open, lifting a cool breeze inside. 

“Jack?” 

Her voice carried through the air like music, and before he could even think of asking her why she was here, why didn’t she tell him she was coming, why had she gone so cold; he swept her into his arms. They held one another tightly, and he kicked the door closed with one foot. 

Picking a peach blossom out of her hair, he noted that she had clearly already taken a windfall one off his front porch and eaten it. 

“I thought you weren’t coming, Miss Fisher.”

“Oh Jack. It’s summer.” She paused, and kissed him gently, brushing away the tear that had crept out his eye.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

**Author's Note:**

> Recently, I stumbled across the song “she used to be mine” by Chris Renzema, and as sad as it is, it felt so phrack-like that I just had to write something.   
I love you all very much, and thank you for the warm welcome on both Instagram and Tumblr. It means the world <3  
\- T xx


End file.
